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Anastasios tried to wrap his head around this revelation. “My father was eighty-four when he died. You’re saying he was involved with a woman sixty years his junior?”
Georgios lifted his hands in a gesture of appeasement. “I’ll admit, I too was surprised. But Konstantinos always seemed younger than he was, and, as you know, his wealth and power would be very attractive traits, to certain women. Particularly young waitresses living in dirt-cheap bedsits. Her finances are, I’m afraid, in terrible straits. To a woman like that, a man such as your father, his generosity…”
Maggie looked over at that moment, a small frown marring her delicate features as her eyes went from Anastasios to Georgios, then, she began to move, her steps slow in the wake of the terrible body blow she’d endured this past week. His mother, always a pillar of strength, looked weak and broken. He hadn’t seen her like this since Valentina. Anastasios shifted, turning to block Georgios from view, ensuring privacy.
The idea of his father having fallen prey to a fortune hunter was difficult to contemplate, and yet Georgios was not a man to throw accusations without merit.
“How sure are you?”
Georgios looked uncomfortable for a moment. “I knew your father well, Tasso. I loved him like a brother. His affair with Annie is something I turned a blind eye to, I’ll admit. I didn’t approve, but after your sister, he wasn’t the same.” None of them had been. “He never mentioned Phoebe to me, perhaps because he understood I wouldn’t take his side in the matter. And yet—,”
“Yes?”
“I knew him, very well. For Konstantinos to have left this amount of money to this woman, she meant something very special to him. Having absolutely ruled out a family connection, it leaves only one conclusion.”
Anastasios closed his eyes, trying to think of anything else that might explain this. He drew a blank.
“There is also this.”
Anastasios opened his eyes to find Georgios lifting his phone from his pocket and pressing a few buttons, then passing it to him. A woman stared from the screen and his breath hissed from his lips. The first thing he noticed was her beauty. It was impossible not to consider her one of the most attractive women he’d ever seen—far more so than any supermodel or actress. From her svelte yet curvaceous figure, generous, rounded breasts, to full lips and dimpled cheeks, glossy chestnut hair and an air that was just incredibly sensual. “How did you get this?”
“I told you, I’ve looked into matters.”
Anastasios knew what that meant. He’d had a detective trail her. “Someone trustworthy?”
“Of course.”
Anastasios handed the phone back with a tight grimace. His father might have been eighty four, but he was a still red-blooded male, and it was difficult to imagine him resisting this woman’s charms, if she’d decided to focus them on the octogenarian.
“This must stay between us. I need any information you have, but then, not another word. I’ll handle it.”
“And the payment your father has specified, for the young lady in London?”
Anastasios’ expression was grim. “Do nothing until you hear from me. I need to look into this further.”
Chapter 1
WEARY DIDN’T BEGIN TO describe how Phoebe was feeling. At the end of her third double shift in as many days, she was practically asleep on her feet. Unfortunately for Phoebe, the classy restaurant on the Kings Road in Chelsea was still half full, meaning there was more than enough to keep her busy, no matter how badly she wished she could click her heels together and be back in the little bedsit she’d called home, ever since arriving in London eighteen months earlier. Just the thought of the crisp sheets Mrs Langham laundered for her each week made her stifle another yawn.
She angled her face away, to hide the telltale gesture from the diners, then moved with innate elegance to one of the tables by the window. A couple sat there, very much in love, if the way they’d held hands all evening was anything to go by. Even when their meals were served, they didn’t break apart, each awkwardly using just a fork to eat with. “Would you like to see the dessert menu?”
The woman smiled at her lover, then shook her head. “We want to get home now, please.”
“Just the bill,” the man agreed.
Phoebe turned and weaved back to the register, pulling out the docket for their table and double checking the meals and wine—her employer was known to fly off the handle if any table was undercharged, and had docked waitstaff’s wages compensatingly—then carried it back to the couple on a platter. The man removed his credit card and paid straight away, a moment later they had stood and were leaving, arms around each other’s waists, eyes unable to be torn from each other’s faces. Phoebe watched them go, imagining for a moment what that kind of love must feel like, imagining the basking sensation of warmth they must enjoy, knowing that each existed for the other.
Clearing their table quickly, she was focused on the kitchen doors so didn’t notice when a man stepped into the restaurant. Instead, she noticed the effect his arrival had, as several heads angled towards the door, so she turned on autopilot and almost dropped the load of plates she was carrying.
Holy guacamole.
This guy was, without a doubt, the most beautiful specimen of masculinity she’d ever seen in her life. Easily six and a half feet and leanly muscled, he wore a charcoal black suit with a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the throat, no tie. His face was angular and symmetrical, his features stone like, his eyes the colour of burnt butter, his hair thick and dark and a little long at the nape, so it brushed the collar of his jacket.
She didn’t want to stop looking at him but the plates were heavy. Besides which, the longer she looked, the more she became aware of something disconcerting in his appearance, something almost too handsome, something unnervingly beautiful.
With a small shiver, she turned away, walking with quiet efficiency through the restaurant, oblivious to the caramel eyes that followed her, to the appraising look they gave as she went.
In the kitchen, she scraped the plates and placed them on the side of the sink, for the attention of Jason, their dishwasher.
